Take My Sanity
by TheFatalRose1993
Summary: When an Italian Shinigami is transferred to the British Division, she not only idolizes Undertaker but doesn't recognize him during the first meeting; since she was amusing, Undertaker decides to get to know the girl better, but finds out she's got darkness in her heart that would shatter a normal person. Can they save each other before falling into insanity?
1. Burning Bright

Of all the things that had to happen this soon, she had to be called into William's office. She had just transferred from Italy, and had stepped on egg shells for the most part, so why even bother calling her there? As she passed by a few employees, including a Ronald Knox, they had all either ignored her or just gave a simple glance. She wasn't much to look at, though compared to the same man she was heading toward, it was a surprise to find her looking exactly like him. There were of course key differences, her Italian nature giving her tanner skin, higher cheek bones and full lips. Her womanly curves shown much more in the suit she wore, unlike the women who usually wore pencil skirts, Hecate Morte was out on the field so she opted for pants instead. Her hips swayed with each step, long ebony black hair pulled up into a bun with only three strands of black hair hanging off to the sides of her head. Her walk appeared almost soldier-like despite her hips swaying; features schooled into cold calculation as she stopped at his door, William T. Spears boldly displayed. She stared at the name for several seconds, because of her being so busy setting herself up in the British Division; she never really got the chance to meet the man. Was there fear? Of course not, just a strange curiosity on what this man truly was.

Lifting a single gloved hand, she grazed her knuckles against the wood before tapping five times, the hand once again lowered to her side. She waited for permission to enter before opening the door, slipping inside quickly and shutting behind her with a silent click. Green-Yellow eyes lifted to meet the exact same color, and she found herself slightly surprised; the man in front of her was almost an exact copy. Pushing the surprise back, while still keeping her features neutral, she lifted her arm and placed her fisted hand against her chest, bowing her body within thirty degrees. "Hecate Morte, you requested me?" Her English was quite good, though the heavy Italian accent couldn't be hidden within her blank and almost empty words. Lifting back up from the half bow, she lowered her arm back to her side and stared at him with an almost blank look; she was assessing him completely, his looks were clean and professional, and just like her he didn't show any emotion. She couldn't tell much else, he kept everything pretty much OCD clean, so her thoughts wandered toward her having to check on her Death Scythe and make sure that everything was in order there, and that it was approved here as well. Then she'd have to finalize her home financial plan, establish a connection to work, and then make sure her transfer went flawlessly. Too much to do within the next two days, else she would be behind in her work.

* * *

Several orderly stacks sat at the corner of his desk, upper right, to be taken down to General Affairs. For a moment, he assumed the office secretary had come to retrieve said files, and inhaled in preparation to elaborate on whom those papers needed to go to. Dual-toned green orbs were busy scanning over two incident reports. However, the Italian lilt that reached his ears caused his focus to shift from the complaint, to the woman that had /just/ transferred, if he was not mistaken.

"I did." Not a beat missed. William T. Spears prided himself on being on top of most events in his Division. A transfer of a new Reaper was certainly not going to be missed, or unexpected. Especially when said Reaper had a reputation that would put Grell's 'Ripper' stint to shame. Pale visage gave no sign or symptom to his opinion on her appearance. Standing from his chair, he gave a bow in return, before adjusting his glasses. "I appreciate your punctuality. If only every other reaper in my employ had such responsibility." The tone was so dry, one really couldn't tell whether it was straight frustration, or an aggravated joke.

Grabbing a rather thick file-folder, William opened it to Hecate's profile page. "According to your portfolio, you have a rather violent way of soul collection." A slight note of disapproval, but otherwise monotone. Setting the file once more neatly on his desk, the Dispatch Manager sat and intertwined his fingers together before continuing. "While that may pass in the Italian Division, I regret to inform you that it will not here. I prefer to run as well-oiled of a machine as possible, despite the many employees that enjoy throwing in kinks." Pulling out a soul collection file, he held it so that she may grab it. "We are understaffed, and I do so dislike overtime. So I am giving you a case that has seemed to slip under the radar. If you wish, consider it an assessment of your skills."

He was sending her to the Undertaker. To whom he would later speak, and ask on her performance. The legend may seem insane to most, but William was all too aware how intelligent and sane the man really was. In her file, it was stated how much she respected him, and would defend his name to all who dared slander. William may have had a stiff upper lip, but it was about that time where he'd send his former mentor entertainment. Usually Grell was ousted out of the offices, to give a break to all in the Library, but why not the transfer?

"You are to go to the London Funerary. A soul has been missed, and I have chosen you to retrieve it. As stated earlier, violence and the like are not approved. Especially in this case. The Funerary Director, in his lifetime, has been a great boon to us. Generally he acts as informant to the Underground, however we as well get information on the occasion it's needed." A glare, and the Manager was finished with, "I implore you not to smear our reputation."

* * *

So, the Italian Division handed over her profile then? It wasn't a surprise, she figured that they would be worried for the British Division. Eyeing the profile with boredom, she eventually shifted her gaze back up as he continued talking to her. As the collection profile was handed over, she flipped it open and gazed through it. James Turner, heart attack at age forty-five; it was no wonder he had went under the radar. Shutting the folder, she tucked it under her arm and listened as he continued. So she wasn't allowed to use such violence then? Very well, despite the body already being placed in a mortuary where it could be fixed properly, she wouldn't harm the body other than the extraction.

As he finally finished, she bowed her head once more, "You needn't worry, the name of the British Division is safe with me." It almost sounded sarcastic, but she was being quite honest, this was her first job in her transfer; there would be no need to slander any names today. Standing back to her full height, green-yellow eyes shifted from side to side to gain a better look at his office, before she let her eyes land back on him again. "Might I ask where exactly this Funerary is? London of course, but that's quite a big city from what I understand." At this point, she hated the way she sounded; it almost appeared that she was a tourist. It couldn't be helped.

One thing was for sure, her scythe would have to be gotten last before her leave, the thing was way too big for her to carry around the Library.

* * *

The first impression that he got, was that work was a very high priority for this woman. Perhaps this transfer would be less of a headache, and more of a help. In any case, the straight-backed manager nodded at her reassurance, ignoring any possible note of sarcasm. "I am a very busy man. The General Affairs department can give you more detailed instructions than I." Indeed, London was a large city. As it should've been, being the capital of England itself. "Oh…if you would, take these down with you. Hand them to Marlene."

* * *

There was a feeling of relief in the air; she noted it was ever so slight, so her impression was good then? Great, that meant she didn't have to worry as much considering what he told her about the other employees. A brief nod was given as she took the stack of folders and headed out, not another word uttered as she headed downstairs to General Affairs. After a few words with the woman at the front, the stack of folders was sent to Marlene and she was given not only a map to London, but the Library as well so she wouldn't get lost very easily. After signing a few forms, she was pointed toward the door where she would have to wait. Going toward said door, the woman leaned against the frame and closed her eyes. A few who were waiting for their turn began to stare, as the door had finally opened and she was handed the large weapon. The staff of the weapon was four feet in height, three inches around, wrapped around the staff laid what appeared to be yellowed bandage wrappings that had aged over centuries; the blade curved into a C, showing off her Death Scythe as an actual Scythe.

Leaning the scythe onto her shoulder, after she pushed off the wall, her free hand lifted to remove the spectacles on her nose. Her glasses were plain, black framed with some scratches across the lenses; though when they were changed, she replaced them with more feminine black glasses, these having a silver chain with one skull on the right side. She tucked the black framed glasses into her pocket, and then walked out. As she made her way out of the Library, she walked until the edge of the bridge, glancing back only once to the beautiful buildings. Then she turned and lifted the scythe, gently lowering it until it touched the split between realms; her shinigami eyes gave a soft glow of emotion as a rip formed, to which she stepped through and into the human realm.

The first thing that was heard, was the sound of horses clamping on the ground, she glanced to the right to note that a carriage was heading straight toward her. A swift turn and she was out of the way, a reminder set in place to practice shifting realms more often so to not get herself into danger anymore. A sigh and she pulled out the map, glancing to the street signs before making her way into the right direction. It took several minutes before she finally understood where she was going, then only a few more by her speed to make it toward the building with Undertaker hanging over the top. She thought of the irony of her situation for a moment, a Reaper collecting a soul at a Mortuary, with that amusement thought set aside she went to the door and knocked. It was the same knock she had given William's door, knuckle brush and all. This time though she only waited five seconds before making her way inside, the bell above the door a second signal to her arrival.

The place was quite messy, coffins stranded about, but surprisingly it was clean otherwise. Despite the dark room, she could see quite well with better lenses than the other pair, so even if a tiny mouse scurried across the floor, she would see it. "…Hello?" Her presence was obvious; having forced it out as soon as she entered so unless this creature was either out or hiding was the only thing that came to mind.

* * *

Well now, that was one particular way to enter the mortal realm that he hadn't felt for some time. Grinning widely, the aged mortician giggled quietly before ambling into a secret alcove that attached to his favoured coffin. The only one standing on its end, to the left of the entryway. He wasn't in any particular rush, as the aura had popped out somewhere a few blocks away. So…this was the one William thought would entertain him? If his memory served, the boy said that it was a female named Hecate. Snickering once more as her presence approached the door, he slid into place, peeking through a crack in the coffin lid.

To be frank, it looked to him as if a wand had been waved, and a now female William stood in his doorway. This thought caused a loud cackle to escape him, and he almost crumbled against the lid. Knowing that to try and hide would be futile, the long, pale digits of the Undertaker slid out to wrap around the edge of the lid and slowly pull it to the side, as well as to aid in keeping balance. The sound emanated by this action would grate against mortal ears. "Ehihihi…I was told I would be getting a visitor in the next few days~" The amusement and mirth that laced his tone always made him appear…cracked. "Would I be correct in assuming that you are 'Ms. Hecate'?~"

* * *

The sound of Undertaker's giggle made her vision snap to the coffin where he rested, she nearly lofted a brow as the coffin lid slid open in an almost creepy manner, his voice causing her lip to twitch in attempt to grin in amusement. No, don't break structure. The twitch ceased and she blinked twice, as if bewildered. Hecate had assumed beforehand when she first met William that he was always on top of things, which was not only someone to try and outdo in work ethic, but also someone she could count on when it came to getting and giving information when needed. Though she didn't expect him to have this entire retrieval as a test, surely this man was to make sure she not only was kept in line, but test and push her buttons as well? Assuming the former more so than the latter; a bow of her head was given.

"You are correct, but please just Hecate." She hated anything along the lines of 'Ms.' Or 'Miss.', especially when it came to her name. "Although I regret to say that I haven't been informed of your name, William simply called you the Funeral Director, what may I call you by?" Since he was an informant for not only the Underground but an ally of the British Division, his name would be placed to memory, even if she were to never see him again. "I'll also assume you know why I'm here? I hate to press the issue, but I'd like to see the body of John Turner." The large scythe was shifted on her shoulder to a more comfortable position, her gloved hand holding the scythe seem to handle it with the utmost care, as if it were a child instead of a weapon.

* * *

The facial twitch was not lost on him, as he had plenty of years under his belt in observing William. Nodding whilst wearing his eternal grin, the Undertaker chortled once more, as if her simple inquiry of his name was amusing. "Very well, miss. Call me Undertaker~ I am but a humble mortician…" Turning to walk away towards the body freezer, he hummed with obvious amusement. "It certainly is rare when an event such as this occurs~"

The last time a shinigami had to come and retrieve a soul in his funerary, was nearly fifty years ago. Ironically, it was around that time that William began rising in rank. Bringing himself back to the present, the Undertaker began to fiddle around inside of his cloak. The key to the freezer hung on a chain that remained close to his body, along with the various keys to the restricted areas of the Shinigami Library. "Hecate…named after the goddess of witchcraft." A short chuckle, and the door was unlocked and open.

"I shall leave you to your work…perhaps afterwards you'd enjoy some tea and a biscuit?" After a moment, he held up his right index finger, his tone suddenly became chill, and there could have been a potential threat in that inch and a half of blackened keratin. "…Though do be careful. I do not at all enjoy repeating work…and even less do I enjoy the desecration of corpses. Even the dead deserve respect." His grin never left, and when he turned to walk into the small kitchen, he was giggling softly.

* * *

Light conversation would always be used with Hecate, especially with allies if for nothing else than to create a bond. "I would hope so, from what Mr. Spears has said, the British Division is just about as tightly run as the Italian Division." She followed behind him to the body freezer, giving a heavy glance over to his clothing. Compared to what she had seen, the man was dressed the most strangely, yet she actually liked it in an even stranger way. Being brought from her thoughts by the sound of her name, she blinked lazily as he mentioned the origin of her namesake. A soft nod came, "Yes, I find that my parents were quite ironic for that, since my last name also includes the origin "Death"." Hecate Morte, the Goddess of Witchcraft and Death; it sounded as if her parents were trying to make her an irony statement.

With the mention of tea and biscuits, she finally broke face to give a soft smile, "Yes, I'd enjoy that if it's not too much trouble." Then a threat, even she could tell it was, but just to toss something back at him a grin curled her lips. "No need for worry, even if I did make a mess, I'm quite good and making my messes disappear; but, sadly, I've made a promise to be a good girl~" It seems the closer she got to the freezer, the more she broke away from the cold and calculated woman that stepped inside the Mortuary. Letting her staff lean against her by itself, she removed one glove and stuffed it in her pocket, her own nails having a tint of grey that was just beginning to form. Lifting the other gloved hand, she slipped into the freezer while shutting the door behind her. A grin formed, without a distraction she could concentrate more on her own power. Her bare hand pressed against the wall of the freezer, a pulse formed before a veil of grey consumed the room. This was a simple barrier to keep the cinematic records from escaping and hurting someone else, nothing more to hurt anyone else; with that done she turned to the body lying in front of her.

He was a lithe man, though with how bad his diet was it wasn't a surprise an artery clogged up to ninety percent and stopped his heart; brown hair laid a mess on top of his head, his dead skin perfectly covered by the Mortician's hands. From the looks of him, he was quite the looker for a human. Biting the cloth tip of the glove on her hand, she pulled it off with her teeth and let it rest there. With both hands free, she grabbed her scythe, and with one quick motion James' chest was pierced by the tip of her blade, her head tilted as a cinematic records shot out to nearly impale her face. It was expected that the soul would fight; she figured being trapped in a body would anger him. Removing her scythe, she slid back to keep away from the attack strips of soul, this one was particularly violent. Her bun had lost its hold, allowing black strands of hair to drop down to her ass; a black ribbon dropping to the floor, a grunt left as her hand lifted on the staff, allowing the yellow wrappings to unravel as it seem to act on its own accord. The yellow strand tangled itself into the cinematic record, forcing it to cease its attack long enough for Hecate to form the all too familiar ball of blue light, attracting the cinematic record into its light as she watched his life pass before her eyes. He was pretty much a good man, though sadly died two weeks before his wedding was scheduled. The woman must've been heart broken, a snort, her husband was deemed to die.

The wrapping was tugged on, forcing it to let go of James' cinematic record as it was sucked into the ball, her blade piercing and absorbing James' soul as finalization. With everything finally done, she retrieved her book from inside a jacket pocket and leaned her scythe against her shoulder; a pen appearing from her jacket as well as she wrote Complete next to James Turner's name. Behind his name laid a list of other names, the book had at least two thousand names in it, and she would be in need a new one soon enough. Setting both pen and book back in their place, the glove between her teeth was placed back onto her hand, opposite glove fished out from her pocket and placed on as well. Turning around, a snap of her fingers shattered the barrier consuming the room. Stopping just as she got to the door, Hecate had to think of anything she might've forgotten, her face scrunched in thought, unable to figure out what it was. Standing there for several seconds, she eventually sighed and figured it to be nothing.

* * *

So…her Death Scythe was an actual Scythe blade? His grin widened as he entered the kitchen and pulled down the iron kettle. The file that William sent mentioned that her idol was…him. A short cackle and he eventually got water on the stove. So that is why the boy sent her for entertainment. Humming in curiosity as a pulse of magic slid over his senses, the Undertaker turned the heat to medium, and swiftly, yet completely silently, made his way to the freezer. She was indeed amusing. If not for her nearly identical appearance to William, then for her wit.

She cleaned up her messes, or so she said. Had she cleaned her messes, than she wouldn't have quite such a…nasty reputation in Italia. Even behind his thick curtain of silver, his dual-toned hues caught every motion made, from the initial puncture of the corpse, to the detainment of the rather nasty soul. James had been laying there for quite a time. It was truly no wonder. Undertaker was only faintly impressed at her ability to handle such a situation. If he read the few pieces of paper right, she had held the same rank that William currently did, so honestly, it was to be expected.

As soon as the black ribbon fell from her hair, he knelt to grab it. The motion was done with speed, in order to avoid being seen; a prank of sorts. Something done to amuse himself until he was able to sit down and speak with her. Closing the door, he remained standing in front of it. One of the many creepy gestures that he loved to do. As soon as the door opened, he grinned widely and held the thin accessory between his right index and thumb nails. "Ah…that looked nasty. Forgive me, but I think you may have lost this~" A short cackle, and then a gentlemanly flirt. "Of course…you don't really need it. It seemed to be hidin' somethin', eh?" A short hum, and he turned to lead her into the kitchen.

* * *

As the door was pushed open, she nearly collided with black; her mind nearly went haywire before she gathered herself and took a step back. Looking up to the crazy grin adoring his features, and then to her black ribbon, Hecate had a nearly blank look on her face; as if she were trying to decide exactly what to do. Then he had turned to go somewhere else, she silently followed behind, unable to form words. Well her previous assumption that he didn't know that much was immediately snuffed out, William had told him a few things obviously, but she was becoming suspicious that he knew about some things that even humans would go insane knowing. …Could that be the reasoning to his cracked ways?

Pushing all of that aside, she found her voice once more as the monotone returned from previous; a light pink forming across her cheeks in embarrassment from his words only several moments ago. "May I have my ribbon back please?" Her head lowered slightly, thick black hair curtaining most of her body save the front; the shift was not only caused by Undertaker's closeness, but also the fact that she didn't particularly care for asking nicely. Seeing as he was an ally, and her promise, she was forced to do so anyways. She could always lie…but that was out of the question, it went against everything she stood for, strangely.

* * *

Lithe pianists' digits played idly with the black accessory as he approached the stove to check on the water. As he had left it on a lower setting, it wasn't yet boiling; and so he left it to grab two beakers from the cabinet. "As I have said, you don't need it." To accentuate the genuineness of his statement, his tone had calmed. It no longer sounded like he was going to burst into riots. Instead, he wrapped the ribbon around his fingers and placed his hand in his pocket. Pulling out his hand, the ribbon was nowhere to be seen, instead a scalpel was precariously balanced in his fingertips.

A flick of his wrist and the surgical blade imbedded itself in the baseboard near Hecate's feet, holding a now dead attic mouse in place. "And here I was told that the problem had been taken care of…" The intonation was of idle observation, however the Undertaker was rather incensed. Rats and mice ate at corpses…and business was lost if even one was present. "Ah…that can be dealt with later…" The chirp had returned, and he gazed through his fringe at the woman sent by William. "It seems we'll need to wait on the water~" Motioning with his left arm to a coffin, he chortled. "Would the lady like a seat?~"

* * *

By this point, Hecate had turned a dark red as her ribbon was placed in his pocket; her irritation rising to a slightly new height, she wasn't going to kill him over a ribbon, that would simply be ignorant. No, instead, she'd try to keep from reaping his soul by mental exercises. Deep breath, then suddenly; _thunk_, green-yellow eyes glance down as a dress shoe stopped from stepping on a dead rat impaled by a scalpel. Blinking lightly, she glanced up to him as he went to offer a seat. Instead of answering, she simply nodded and waited for him to turn around. A single hand floated above the scalpel, and by the amount of light in the room, strand of silver wire had dropped down and wrapped itself firmly around the blade. A single tug and it was in her hand, taking a few steps toward a coffin, the blade was thrown with precision and speed toward the mortician's hand.

"How am I going to be professional without my hair pulled back from my face?" Her question almost seemed innocent, if it wasn't laced with slight ire. Her scythe was placed against the wall before a seat was taken, her legs crossed as she patiently waited for her tea, features schooled back to neutral as the blood that had previously rushed into her features faded away quickly. If this was a test by William, then congratulations to him, he had not only startled her and caused her to rethink everything she stood for, she had to keep from chopping off this poor man's head in her ire and mirth. "From what I heard, Italia is getting infested as well, they usually poison some old food and place it in the back of their stores where mice migrate; its kept the population down for the most part."

* * *

He knew that look, and the fact that he had accomplished the feat of having it aimed at him so quickly made him snicker. Aged yet honed ears caught the sound of wire, and the slight squish of the mouse as the blade was removed. Normally he wouldn't pin-point his senses over such a trivial event, but women could be unpredictable. Also, this woman's reputation preceded her. Upon sensing his own blade flying towards his hand, the Silver Mortician grinned, and caught the instrument with his fingertips; giving a twirl of flourish before placing it back inside the pocket it came from. Not a beat was missed, and he pulled the kettle off of the burner before it could whistle.

"You ask that of a man that runs a business with an eternal fringe in his face~!" A cackle, as if she hadn't just tried to impale his hand; but simply handed the blade to him. "There are times when a more relaxed look does more than one of rigidity~" How many years had he tried to drill that into William? At least twenty. Shaking his head, the Undertaker spooned the tea leaves and sugar into the pot. Pouring two beakers, he held them by their edges. Handing her the one in his left hand, he grinned. "That actually sounds like splendid advice…perhaps I should visit Italia more often." He might actually learn something new. It had been several centuries since he had settled in Great Britain after all.

"I know another who is about as rigid as a coffin lid. Might I ask why you are so anxious about your appearance?" The Undertaker loathed only a few things. Those were; the Nobility of the world, cruelty to women, children, and the dead, and false praise. The words that came from his lips were not at all insincere; Hecate was an attractive woman. One would have to be completely blind not to see it. "…I simply wonder why you deem it…appropriate to hide away."

* * *

"...L'inferno?" That was certainly startling; he had caught that almost…too flawlessly. Staring at him as he continued his work, she began to study him more closely than before, from his pale visual to the scar across his pinkie. Luckily her Italian was mumbled, else he probably would've given her another grin and laugh, he seemed to have visited once before, he probably already knew the language. Taking the beaker in her hands, she looked down to the tea as he mentioned William. There was no mistaken that he was speaking of the reaper, the man was just as ridged as she was, maybe even more so. The reflection of herself in the tea caused a moment of softness in her eyes; Hecate had done well so far to avoid mirrors and any reflective image.

It could've been totally possible that she had forgotten what she looked like, though that was neither here nor there. Looking back up to Undertaker, the softness had left. "I don't believe its hiding my hair; it's long and nearly impossible to get all the tangles out, especially when it comes to fighting souls. Not only that, but I'm not use to having hair in my face during the middle of important work." Her head tilted slightly to the right, boredom written across her face as if she had explained this nearly a thousand times. Because of the flawless catch he had pulled, she was a bit more inclined to keep her annoyance down, and instead use it as a way to possibly revisit him in the future. Hecate found him an interesting creature, anything would be good enough to use at this point...as long as it made sense. "Since you're so keen on keeping my hair down, I'll leave it as such."

Well, there wasn't really a point in fighting him anymore; he obviously wasn't going to give up the ribbon anytime soon. Lifting the beaker, she took a few sips of the steaming tea.

* * *

Glancing back at her mumble, the Undertaker felt his brow rise in curiosity. Did William tell her nothing, or did the boy simply insinuate he was human? The grin that climbed onto his lips at this possible revelation was almost wide enough to touch his ears. If that was the amount of amusement William was going to give him, then perhaps he'd reward his former student with a more detailed report than normal. Perhaps even go to the Library himself. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he sat and sipped his own tea before replying.

"While I completely understand…there _are _ways to manage extremely long locks…and do one's work well~" His right hand motioned to his shop – the counters, coffins, and the freezer. "I've had these strands since I was but a boy. Not the best time growing up, I assure you~" Laughing at his own joke, he mused silently as to _why_ she would leave her hair for essentially, a complete stranger. "To solve detangling and split ended issues, I do advise coconut oil…" Gripping the end of one of his forelocks in between his fingers, he frowned as he looked at it. "Perhaps I should take my own advice here soon."

After a moment, he decided to poke at her even further. But how to broach the subject of…himself? Perhaps a harmless question would do. "Now…pardon my  
potential obtuseness. But why do you carry a scythe that perhaps belongs to Death itself?" He wasn't really at all a vain creature, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with him. "From what I see, most 'Death Scythes' are more…of the Gardening variety~"

* * *

Here she was taking advice from someone she had just met; about her own hair no less. The black locks were well taken care off, appearing as if she got it trimmed every three weeks to a month. Coconut oil, it would be an interesting substitute until she found a proper barber. It wouldn't be odd to take advice from a man that had hair longer than possibly her Mother by now, would it? Deciding not, she nodded and placed that to memory, taking another sip of the tea. Then the subject of her Death Scythe was brought up, and she was once again reminded of how much William _could've_ told him.

Glancing at the dangerous weapon, she turned back to Undertaker and sat there for at least a minute, deciding how she could explain it, if she should explain it at all. Finally, the words seemed to form in a line that made sense, even for a human. "A while back, when I first started working, I had begun to look up to a man who worked the same line as I did. He had already retired by the time I started of course, but he was considered legendary by even the people of Italy. I use to just look up to him, but lately I've been striving to have at least a bit of the glory he had." By this point, she looked slightly troubled, as if reminded of the reports of all the violence on her profile. It was likely going to be a stone she wouldn't be able to pass for quite some time.

"He owned, from what I heard from my superiors, an actual Scythe that was quite beautiful by description. I didn't want to mimic his blade, but I did want something like it." A small shrug, it wouldn't hurt to reveal this bit, would it? "Today you can't really smith your own blades, you have to get approved for any sort of equipment as far as I know, but a few years back-"More like a few centuries, but hey. "If you had the skill and time, you could. I spent nearly two weeks just creating the design and perfecting the blades curve." That was the most annoying part of the entire scythe, that blade was hard to curve even with her talented hands. "Though, sometimes I do wonder what his scythe actually looks and feels like, from the description it had to be pretty heavy..." On a closer look, someone could easily tell the awe and admiration in her eyes, the tiny pink dusting her cheeks as she nearly began to daze off into space.

Forcing herself out of said daze, Hecate looked at Undertaker once more; her question would seem innocent and small enough. She would build up over time though, "How long have you been working here? It seems you're well settled."

* * *

As he waited for her to figure out how to phrase an answer, the Undertaker gazed over at the scythe, admiring the craftsmanship. Particularly the large curve of the sickled blade. It was not only elegant, but efficient in its' form. Of course, his line of sight could only be guessed at, as his hues were hidden completely behind his fringe. Upon her vague, yet still revealing start, his grin widened a titch and he took a sip of tea. "Retired? You mean to tell me that this idol simply…quit?" She may not have said that particular word, Idol. But it fit.

Downing the rest of his beaker, he set it beside him and gently tapped the lid before continuing. "For someone as 'legendary' as you say he was…I would expect him to _enjoy_ the attention~" A cackle, both at her expense, and his next question. He gave a Cheshire grin. "I haven't heard of personal smithing in at least a decade or two, if not more. Where did you accomplish this piece of weaponry?~" It was obviously a rhetorical tease. Though it insinuated an age on his part. Though, it surprised him to hear that the Italian Dispatch had admired his blade. Most places he travelled, he usually got that it was much too macabre, or too large for sensible use.

Blinking out of his reminiscence, the aged Mortician damn near fell into a fit of chuckles at her awed expression. Settling himself with another nearly Cheshire grin, he hummed lowly before answering her own question. "You mean an attendant to the dead? Ehihi~ It's been that way since I can remember." He folded his thin fingers and tilted his head to the right. Vague, yet completely truthful, like her own responses. "Despite this, I've only been in Great Britain for a short period." Compared to the long expanse of time he has been in existence, it was indeed short. She amused him, so he would give her slight answers.

Did William not warn this man that she admired Demitru so much that she placed another reaper in the infirmary for slandering his name? Her jaw twitched as she attempted to calm herself, what did this human know anyways? It was probably just a series of questions asked to know more about Demitru anyways. "Well, eventually even a celebrity gets tired of all his fame, and goes into hiding to take a break." She left no room for questioning on that, the statement was almost a bit to firm, she realized this and continued to push herself to calm down.

* * *

At least she was getting better at controlling herself, her stability being a work in progress since her fiancé's death. Shifting as she finished her own beaker filled with tea, the glass was set off to the side. Her glasses were removed from her nose, brought down to her free hand which had brought out a crimson stained cloth, a speck of dirt removed from the lenses before being placed back on. Her eyes did match William's to a tee, without the frames in the way at least, but the yellow in her eyes seemed to shift from a florescent yellow to a pure gold with each emotion that passed by her features nearly undetected. As of right now, they were a brilliant gold mixed with a forest green.

She then answered his previous question, having not looked up as she was cleaning her glasses while saying so. "This job is a hard one, I imagine he got tired of the continuous and relentless paperwork; there is also the field work, which isn't any easier when you know that this person or that could be a mother, a daughter, a sister, wife, cousin, it hardly matters. It takes a toll on you no matter how detached you are from this job, even if it's just a niche. I've been working as a field agent for quite some time; I'm surprised I'm not as cold as my father was." That much was the truth, especially for Hecate; it didn't matter how detached reapers were supposed to be, and even William probably had some trouble for a split millisecond. Most said she was full of it, or that she was nearly human in her emotional range, which is why she would hide it so well; she remembered the bullies from her school quite well, they were a constant reminder of what she couldn't do.

* * *

Glancing up as he mentioned her blade once more, she looked back to it with a small grin, "I smithed that blade in Italy, I had a favor from the blacksmith who worked with our company, he let me borrow his forge until it was done." And trained her on how to curve that blade that he admired so much, but he didn't have to know that, and neither did she know he was truly admiring her weapon. When he answered her question, she nodded softly, so he had been to other places as well? That caused a tilt to her head, "Your accent is British, I would've never assumed you weren't native." He never insinuated that, but she wanted to try and make a jab at where his nationalities lied.

A relatively calm laugh escaped him at her defense. She was calmer than what he had expected, as William indeed insinuated that insulting himself may cause a few injuries. "Forgive me~ I am used to dealing with haughty nobles…one thing I despise about this country in particular~" The English had a pride that was about as big as their country, if not larger. Snorting at his mental metaphor, the Undertaker allowed his face to fall into a more serious expression.

"You have never met this creature. You have not seen his legendary feats for yourself…why idolize something that is as substantial as air?" One thing he always taught, not only to prevent unnecessary bias against other supernatural creatures, but to lessen the drama between young reapers; 'Believe nothing of what you hear, and only half of what you see'. The laughter had almost left his tone. Yes, it was a field that had the constant danger of having to collect someone you love, but also did it have a large and bearing burden on one's sanity.

Pushing the more serious thoughts from his mind, he once again took in her appearance. Her eyes caused a curious hum to leave him. It was certainly a strange colour to see in the eyes of a reaper, not one that was at all common. Several eons ago, a partner of his had it in reverse, molten gold on the outside, forest green within. The Undertaker hadn't seen such a case since. Perhaps he would ask William to send her more often. While she was amusing to no end, her intelligence was refreshing to be around. Even the Crimson Lady got grating…though he'd never say that to her face.

Chuckling after a moment, the wide smile returned to his face. "I understand your situation, and your stress. As a mortician, I must live with the possibility that I must preserve a body that is close to me…" Standing to once again make his way into the kitchen, it had just occurred to him that he forgot the biscuits. Head tilted Hecate's direction to show he was listening; Undertaker opened the top cupboard and grabbed a medium sized urn. "I thank you, miss~ I have been told I am rather talented at imitation." Making his way to her coffin, he opened the urn and lowered it in offering. "Bonemeal, sugar, and a hint of vanilla." On the subject of his true ethnicity, he pondered how best to explain.

"My roots originate in what you'd know as Ramnicu Valcea. It's the capital of the Valcea County of Romania." Said county was also inside of Oltenia, a rather historical location. An accent bled through as he spoke the native name of the city, and for a moment he remained silent after, if only to re-obtain the Lower Sussex lilt he favoured.

* * *

A nod was given, she accepted the…apology? It was hard to tell with the amusing laughter and smile, though she was surprised to find it drop at the next question to leave his lips, almost stunning her in silence. Why should she admire someone she hadn't met nor seen? Only one answer seemed to scream back at her, and she found it almost too cheesy to say. "Because even if I haven't seen it, knowing that the accomplishments he has made are achievable by someone like me is something I admire and strive for." It always seemed like that, Hecate had always put herself two steps below everyone, to try and be three steps above them when a challenge was made.

As he explained his stress with his job, Hecate adjusted her glasses to cause a glint to hit the lenses and shield her eyes in a mirror of light. "Not to degrade your job, nor cause any disrespect, but I much rather trade jobs with you. To make a person, even if they are a loved one, beautiful at their final closing of life…instead of taking away their life; it's a pleasure I'd much rather have." Did she regret taking on the job of a reaper? Of course not, it was a pleasure to do so, but the stress did crash down on her at times. Then she was offered a biscuit, at the ingredient list, she tilted her head curiously and took one. Nibbling at the end, Hecate found a pleased hum leave her lips. As much as she enjoyed her job, cooking was also a passion that relieved a lot of stress, licking the crumbs from her lips, half the biscuit still in her hand, she looked up to him. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd love the recipe to these." They were quite delicious.

As he spoke of his origins, the immediate thought was that he could've been a vampire; Romania was known to have a problem with them. It would explain his quick reactions to the scalpel, along with the reasoning as to why William freely allowed information to slip to him. "Ohn, I see." A small nod, "I was born in Sicilia, as it's known today. I found that it's grown and flourished quite beautifully as a city. I found myself missing it as of lately." Homesick would be the best word, but the tiny grin on her face proved she didn't regret leaving. Hecate knew that this man would want some sort of information from her as well, as she was slowly figuring out more about him; so it was only polite that she share some information on herself before being asked.

Nibbling some more on her biscuit, Hecate eventually spurred up the courage to finally ask the man the question that has been bothering her since the scalpel. "…Not that I'm trying to boost my own ego here… but how did you manage to catch that scalpel?" The biscuit was now devoured, long since forgotten as she brushed the crumbs from her lap and lips.

"No offense is at all taken, m'dear. It's an understandable desire. Perhaps you share the same opinion as I, that a Funeral is simply the last party of one's life?" He was on his second biscuit, the urn sitting beside him on the coffin. After finishing the baked good, he let out a hearty cackle at her pleased hum. It was a reaction that he never got tired of seeing. Her explanation for why she admired him would sit at the back of his mind, at least for now. Giving a nod to acknowledge it, he continued to her request for the recipe. "Although it is simple, I prefer to keep that secret~ Though you are more than welcome to come again, to have another sitting of tea, should you like~"

* * *

Italia was one of the countries that he had not travelled too extensively. He may have passed through Sicilia at some point, but nothing came to him about such. "If I may be so bold, though you miss it, you don't seem to regret leaving… ~" The eternal grin was back to a 'normal' level. Grabbing the urn, he offered yet another biscuit, the unvoiced question hanging at the end of his sentence. What reason was there for no regrets? Though he was somewhat surprised by her question. He didn't think she would actually ask.

And it would be _only _because she gave him such amusement, would he answer. "You are familiar with General Affairs, the Glasses Department, and of course Dispatch?" His grin widened, as she was sure to either be surprised he knew such terms, or furious that William didn't enlighten her to his specie. "Consider what I do to be another sort of Department if you would. I rarely do field work, as my job is simply to gather information." A loud cackle escaped him. "I take it…William forgot to mention my race? No. More than likely, it was to entertain me." The grin worn almost turned sadistic. Holding up his finger, he continued; "You see…I despise the Queen, and her dirty money. Shinigami currency doesn't interest me. Payment for my services is simple; bestow upon me the choicest of laughter."

* * *

"Actually, yes I am." She wasn't surprised, morticians usually found comfort with that sort of thinking, as she had found comfort in the same aspect. A small smile was given once more, and she found herself doing so more often around him. Maybe Hecate found a bit of comfort despite his irritating questions on her idolizations? It could be true; his laughter was contagious in some ways, as she found herself trying to contain a smile every time he did laugh. It almost felt as if…no…she wouldn't bring those thoughts back again. "I'd love to come back, you're certainly entertaining." If only she knew how entertaining she was to him right then, her words would've been eaten the second they left her lips.

As her home was brought about, she took another biscuit without a second thought, a small scoff leaving her lips as she nibbled on the edge. "Of course I don't, the city was beautiful, and the people were rotten…" Were details really needed? Her gaze rose as he spoke about the shinigami dispatch, despite her emotions coming out, she had an iron grip on the surprise that clamped down. So he was…a shinigami? Now everything seemed to fall into place for her, though the surprise didn't show, relief did. Her words wouldn't need to be carefully watched, and she could speak as freely as desired. "Well then…having a scythe in his ass seems the least of my worries concerning his humor being so cruel." It was slightly mumbled, pink flushing her features. "I understand, though Italia doesn't have that in their Division, I don't see why Britain shouldn't."

Then the last sentence spoke cause a brow to lift in an almost bland curiosity. "So I assume the reason as to why you've been answering my questions is because I amuse you to no end?" She almost looked annoyed, if not for the amused grin on her lips. She was laughing at her own embarrassment, when the truth was so blandly placed in front of her. Hecate almost felt dense, almost. "Excuse me if it's intruding on personal history, but that scar on your pinkie, it doesn't look like something a scalpel would do. What happened?" The scar was peculiar, and she couldn't help but glance at it every once in a while.

* * *

So she was one of those. That was refreshing to hear. At her statement of him being entertaining, he chuckled and shook his head. "Then I think, that you are entertaining yourself~" He was of the assumption that it was his giggly and mirthful nature that brought her amusement. True, he was always amused at something or other, but perhaps it was his amusement at her, that entertained. The more he thought about it, the more he went in circles, and eventually he dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Eh? Coming back to his senses, Undertaker went back over what Hecate had just said about her homeland. "Ah…that sounds like Liverpool…except for Liverpool has a nasty chamberpot smell…" A short snicker and he was finally able to sit straight. He did so mainly to catch her reaction to the first part of his answer. …No shock, eh? That was a little disappointing, if he were to be honest. Perhaps the next time William sent him someone, he'd tone it down.

Although it was mumbled, he heard her statement of ire, and it sent him tumbling to the floor in full, body-shaking cackles. For a couple of moments, he couldn't breathe. The way he had fallen, the collar of his coat moved away from his throat, exposing the scar that wrapped completely around. Laughter drowned the third part of her reaction, and it was several more minutes before he pulled himself to rest his torso atop the coffin.

Finally able to breathe and respond in some fashion, he nodded and tried his damndest to quiet his mirth so he could communicate. "Hehe…heh…HEHEHAHIII~" It seemed that he was failing, and doing so spectacularly. Planting his face into the coffin lid, he made a little twirling motion with his finger, and his cackles were once more renewed.

* * *

His fits of rowdy laughter had ceased any thought process she had, watching as the man tried to contain himself with complete failure. For once, Hecate let a smile crease her cheeks, the shine of perfect teeth as she chuckled and nearly laughed herself finally entering the air. His laughter was contagious, and she eventually found herself calming despite his renewed laughter. Standing up to pick up five more biscuits, she kneeled down next to him, appearing as if she was checking for a pulse when she instead was checking his scars. She was respecting personal space at least, instead of examining them as she desired too.

They were certainly interesting; the design of the scars is what caused her to become so interested. She'd probably ask William about them, as he would surely know about it, and explain that he was in a fit of laughter and thus couldn't answer or else she wouldn't have bothered. Deciding that it would be best if she left him now, a rather amusing thought played in her head; should she play it out? It would be funny, at least to her, and a part of her wondered if it would stun him. Her words were spoken with such a tone that even if she spoke loud enough for anyone else in the room to hear, it would sound like nothing but a whisper to the listener.

"Consider that payment for any disrespect I might've shown you~" Then, her full and soft lips pressed against his cheek; her lips would feel surprisingly warm, then she was suddenly up, with her scythe, and out the door with a nearly cheeky wave thrown over her shoulder. "Until next time, Undertaker~"


	2. Ignorance Isn't Bliss

One week with working with the British Division and she knew exactly why William had said there had been employees who threw in kinks. Not only had she met Grell Sutcliff, but the creature had nearly confused her to no end. It was obvious that the red head was a male, but would get angry when Hecate first mentioned her as a man; at least until Hecate explained that she had just joined, it was then after she had calmed that Hecate was told that Grell preferred to be mentioned in female text. There were of course other people who liked to throw in kinks, which Hecate had repaired some of them, she eventually got use to it. Lifting a hand to brush back ebony locks, Hecate looked up to note that Grell was once again going off about William, a small jaw twitch and she looked back down. Hecate would never dare admit it, but Grell looked so much like Damien that at times it hurt to look at the shinigami.

This of course didn't deter their relationship, Hecate and Grell had become something of friends, after the whole scandal of Grell's gender, Hecate had mentioned that her crimson hair was quite beautiful. It seemed to have sealed the deal, Grell would often come over just to talk, and possibly even try to tease the woman. Hecate would simply turn a light pink and change the subject, an ache in her heart that she had forgotten had become a familiar pain. After stacking the papers neatly, Hecate felt arms wrap around her stomach, and her ears began to work once again; she had done well to block most of Grell's talks out. "I'm so bored~" Green-yellow eyes glanced to Grell's desk, a pile of papers beginning to stack up. "You could finish your work, Grell." A pout formed on her face, "You're so cruel! My delicate hands can't take that much work." A snort left Hecate, "My hands are just as delicate as your Grell, come on now, I need to get this stack down to General Affairs before William crawls up my ass."

Hecate had made it a challenge not to have William on her back, after he figured out her scandal back in Italy; she had tried to show that despite this, her work was still going to be top notch. Grell gave a tsk, "Darling, you really need to take a break." Maybe Grell was right, Undertaker's offer popped into her head, maybe she should visit him again? It had been about a week, take or give a few days. "Probably, but that still won't help your slacking~" It was a tease, and even Grell recognized it as such, a shark tooth grin and Hecate was released. "You know, people say that you're a lot like Will, but I think that's only in appearance~" Hecate rolled her eyes, "And probably work wise too~" A scoff, "I hardly doubt that Mr. Spears and I are alike." Hecate had grown to stand by that, and with time she was sure they would realize a stark difference between them. Laying a kiss on either side of Grell's face, as it was returned all the same, Hecate took the stack of papers and started down to General Affairs.

After about five minutes of doing nothing but handing out paperwork to whom they belonged too, Hecate was off once again to head back up to her desk. She was just beginning to pass the huge statue standing in the front of the Library, when she finally looked up to it. Hecate somehow felt she recognized that face, and knew quite well that it was Demitru, but she hadn't met him in her life. Staring at the aged stone, she tried to place with difficulty where she saw him, or someone like him, before. People passed by without a second glance, the look on Hecate's face proved she didn't want to be bothered right now.

Ever since Undertaker took her ribbon, she had left her hair down, the long locks had nearly begun to cover her butt, and Grell had said that the coconut oil mixed well with her own conditioner. Grell too, had long locks, and offered some of her rose conditioner as aid along with the oil. Brushing her bangs away with slight irritation, her mind kept reeling. "…Where have I seen you?" This was going to annoy her for the rest the night.

* * *

Another week, and sadly the new Reaper that came to his shop was the only thing to truly note. An eternity of embalming bodies and nothing ever seems new. Of course the manner of death was always an interesting story to hear. Apparently his most recent Guest had perished whilst shoeing his horse. The raucous cackles had to be held in, for it was a relatively new family. They hadn't been in London long enough to hear of the eccentric Mortician, and so he begrudgingly took the coin they offered. Pulling the last line of stitching through the young man's torso, the Undertaker felt his grin widen at the thought of the reaper named Hecate. She held herself to standard. That was obvious through the speed in which she got that nasty little job done. That reminded him…he needed to get back to William with the report, didn't he?

Chuckling heartily, he tied the thin line in a double knotted close before buttoning the shirt which the family had given for him to wear. Placing the used scalpels and needle into a tin of disinfectant, the Silver Mortician went to go wash his own hands. All the while, thinking on what precisely to tell the boy. Indeed, she may have shared a physical similarity to William, but otherwise from what was seen, she was _certainly_ her own person. Oh yes, what she pulled, William wouldn't have done in a million years. Grin widening a few inches, he scratched his cheek with a wet nail, pondering how best to…return the favour. Yes, it was payment enough, and it would cover a bit more…simply because he wasn't truly expecting it.

Thinking back, he chuckled again. Perhaps he should return her ribbon. She did seem to have an attachment to it, as long hair truly was a pain in the ass to deal with. From what he has heard, William insisted on keeping her in the office until he gave a favourable report. Humming lightly, he pondered if he had any Cinematic Records to return. Ambling into his office, he glanced over his desk and found them. Now how long ago did he borrow the Hallcourt's records? Pursing his lips in thought, he placed the two books in his sleeve. Grabbing a sotoba, he opened the portal to the Library and stepped through.

It certainly wasn't often that he came. But when he did, it seemed that this was the reaction that he always got. Older reapers gave low bows, and the younger generation simply stared. Tipping his hat to those he passed, he reached the front doors of the Library with minimal interruption. Cracking a grin, it passed through his mind that William must have them all actually working. Pulling open the door, he stopped, and an almost cruel thought came to him.

There was the object of his reports and amusement. Staring at his statue, her posture seeming lost in thought. To him, it was perfect. Masking both his aura and the sound of his footsteps, he pulled out the black ribbon that had sat in his pocket for the past seven days. Coming to stand right behind her, he brought his arm over her shoulder, his nails holding the hair accessory in an almost teasing grip. Leaning forward and down so his lips rested just behind her ear, he spoke softly. "Oh, dear? You left this…~"

* * *

Why did he seem so familiar to her? Chewing on her tongue, she ran through all faces she had met within the past week, when suddenly a ribbon was shown in front of her face. Staring at it blankly, she realized who was behind her and felt a tiny grin cross her lips, "I already told you, you can ke-…" She turned around to face Undertaker; a sudden jolt ran through her brain, looking back at the statue, then Undertaker. She did this twice before staring at him, at first, it appeared that she was stunned; and then all the color drained from her features. Opening and closing her mouth, brain process seemed to stop. Then it occurred to her all at once.

'_I…kissed…his cheek._' Whatever color had drained had come back in full force, even her ears turned a bright pink. Collapsing to her knees, she bowed her head to the floor, at first it appeared that she wanted to curl up and die, until she spoke. "I am _so _sorry, Lord Demitru, I stepped out of line way to many times. Please forgive me." Her face was still a burning crimson; she could feel it on her hands as they held her face off the ground, over lapping each other as they pressed against her forehead. She must've been a sight, because a few had stopped to actually stare, glancing at Undertaker before moving on. She hardly cared, this was possibly the most embarrassing moment of her entire life. Screw the Council and them calling her in for her fiancé's strange death, being bullied in school by a bunch of boys who pulled her hair and threw stuff; but one thing was for sure, she was going to _kill_ William for not telling her this!

* * *

Upon her half-sentence, his grin widened. "Well yes…bu-...hm?" Well. Now he knew she could do an _excellent_ imitation of a corpse in colour. It also seemed that she could act like a fish out of water as well. Grin widening to ear touching proportions, he waited patiently for her voice to find her again. He knew _exactly_ why she was acting so bizarre, and he had to be honest; it amused him to no end. All of a sudden all blood rushed back to her head, and his medically inclined nature had him sharply watching for any negative signs. So when she collapsed, he knelt swiftly as well.

"Hecate…" He was unable to get out a question of concern before she threw herself forward, and landed halfway on his knee. "…" He was torn between laughing hysterically, and slapping her upside the head. "…Eu sunt Domnul, nu mai sunt." The intonation held was a mix of extreme amusement, and slight exasperation. Reaching with his right index nail, he lifted her chin, and stared her in the eye. Well…his fringe got in the way of a clear view, but a sliver of dual-toned green could be glimpsed between shifting strands; the inside a dark forest shade, the outside only several shades lighter. "Out of line? M'dear, there are only a handful of lines I have drawn, and you approached none of them."

Feeling the heat in her face, he slid his finger to check her pulse. It raced, and he smiled gently before making a flirtatious joke. "Oh my…I don't think that I could find a rabbit that could outpace you~" If she continued to nearly worship him, it didn't matter that she was a woman, a swift yet gentle knock to the back of her head with sotoba would commence. "Now dear, come with me. I have several records to return, as well as report to William."

* * *

Her heart was hammering, and with her suddenly on his knee, she couldn't figure out what to do. Stuck between freaking out even worse and having a heart attack, the woman was nearly a statue. As his finger guided her to face him, her breath caught in her throat, here she was bowing to her…idol, nearly three inches from his face. She could actually see a bit of his own eyes, though through the lenses of the more bulky glasses it was harder to tell; Hecate knew that he had no gold, and that…..well, that was about it. Her own breath had caught into her throat, especially as his finger trailed down her throat to check her own pulse, the vein he had touched thumped even more harshly against his finger.

"I..ahn..uh.." Yeah, she wasn't going to be able to talk anytime soon, and she faltered all the more when he said yet another flirt toward her, though it was impossible for her to turn anymore red, so she simply tried to speak with no words. Eventually snapping her mouth shut, she nodded numbly and shakingly got to her feet. Finally, after managing to gather a few brain cells that hadn't imploded, fury entered her eyes. "I'm going to _murder_ that man for not telling me." It was obvious that she said that out of embarrassment, more than anger, but her head still appeared as if it were about to explode. Lifting her hand to touch where his fingers had dragged, she found that goose bumps had risen across her neck and down every limb. This man had a bit more control over her body than she'd like…but wasn't surprised. Shyly lifting her gaze to Demitru, she had to keep from crumbling to the floor in a nearly dead heap of embarrassment. It only dug in deeper when he said she hadn't stepped out of line, and her brain had trailed to something that made her want to use a hammer to her temples. '_So he actually liked it then?_'

Shifting to the side so he could continue on, Hecate bowed at a thirty degree angle, adjusting her glasses after she stood back up. "A-And…you are still a Lord…at least to me…and my people." The last part was said a bit more quickly, as if to cover her tracks. "A-After you."

* * *

It couldn't be helped. As she began to stutter, his grin widened even further at her expense. Yes, he generally disliked being fawned over or worshiped. However, it had been a while since the last time he had gotten a full out collapse out of someone. It was also how she originally handled herself that made this event damn near hilarious. Standing as she did, he stayed beside her in case her frame decided to crumble. He couldn't help but notice one particular detail. "Forgive the seemingly random observation, but I can't help but notice those aren't the spectacles you wore when you came to my shop."

Upon her loud and furious outburst, his grin widened considerably and a low chortle left him. Such a sight would prove an immense form of entertainment, yet he couldn't help the feeling that it would do her more harm than good. "While it would be interesting to see you try, not only have I trained the boy myself, but more than likely you will find yourself under a mound of paperwork that would keep you in the office for months~"

Turning to make his way to Record Keeping and Storage, the Undertaker kept his eyes on Hecate. At her bow, his visage took on a slight frown, and turning to fully face her, he loosely folded his arms. "Hecate…I am no longer employed by this Library, nor am I on the roll of any other. I hold no rank, and it is only the stories of my career that causes such reverence in you. I will say this once, you are approaching one of the few lines that makes me a sour individual. I am your equal. Do not treat me otherwise." His tone had lost all mirth, and took on a very serious note. It almost held a chill, but it was more along the lines of a brush of cold air. "Even if my previous accomplishments make me a legend, I hate the structure of Nobility. Do not treat me as such."

Having begun to make his way down the hall, he stopped and turned his head back. "Walk with me. Not behind. Not only does it insinuate rank that doesn't exist…" A large grin slithered onto his lips. "…It also makes me feel as if someone is staring at places they shouldn't~ Ehihi!"

Trying not to chew her tongue off, Hecate adjusted the glasses again and cleared her throat, talking in a small voice. "Y-Yes… they were….my fiancé's." No one had known what had happened to Damien, Hecate's betrothed, but from her wearing his glasses, they assumed he had either quit or died. She wore them at all times within the walls of the Library, switching them out with her specially made glasses going out onto the field. There were hardly any mistakes on her paper work, and she could see well enough in them as is. Though the bulky frames did make her appear as if she were a child, or the classical "nerd".

Even Hecate knew that was true, trying to kill the Division head would not only put a pile of paper work on her desk, but cause more trouble than it's worth. It was a harmless joke, no matter how cruel. She continuously reminded herself of that with a solemn nod, taking Demitru's advice once again. Then he seemingly got onto her about how she was treating him, looking up bewildered, she lifted her hands in a small defense. "I-I'm sorry, while I'll try to contain myself, I-I was born nearly six hundred years ago; you know how it was back then." Her eyes dropped to the floor, her hands falling to her sides. "I-I'll do my best." She definitely didn't want to jump on his bad side that would cause only more trouble for her.

As she began to follow behind him, she was beginning to beat herself over the head when he turned around to insinuate something that made her turn a scarlet once more. "I-I…n-never! I-I'd never do that." She was immediately by his side, fiddling her thumbs in front of her while keeping her eyes on the floor. Hecate actually didn't know what to do, for every situation planned for; this wasn't something that ever came to mind!

* * *

"You were to be wed?" They did certainly look like a more masculine frame, as they were a bit big on her face. Looking to her as they walked, he cautiously delved deeper. "Might I ask what happened?" Several reapers stared at them as they passed. All the Undertaker had to do was frown their direction, and they scuttled away quickly. He had noticed her small tone, but said nothing, because she was obviously trying; and he actually found it cute.

Nodding at her explanation for why she behaved the way she did, he hummed with a grin. "Ah. The Dark Ages, one of my favourites if I am to be honest. If I recall correctly, I once had to bury at least three-hundred bodies in one day." One of Vlad Tepes' many 'Bloody Forest' dinners that were held to scare his advisors into line. And one of the eras in which he actually had to put effort into hiding his race; as the magically inclined human population was much too perceptive.

Coming from his thought process at her almost _overly _enthusiastic denial, he fell into a fit of cackles that caused him to almost bend backwards. Pointing at her with the occasional giggle, his grin turned impish and he began to tease again. "Oh~? Am I not attractive to you? Or perhaps I am, and that is why thou dost protest so much~!" Another cackle, and he finally reached the counter to which he returned books when he didn't wish to enter the Cinematic Library.

The woman there was an elderly type, and grinned at Undertaker's giggles. "Sir…might I remind you to return records _earlier_?" Obviously having dealt with the eccentric mortician many times before, she simply clucked her tongue and took them. "I honestly don't know why you have to keep them so long. Also if I remember correctly, Mr. Spears was actually looking for the Hallcourts." Tipping his hat toward the kind woman, Undertaker grinned and hummed. "Ah miss, I don't watch them, I read them~" And he continued towards the East Offices, where those of Manager rank got to sit.

Several turned to nod, otherwise they continued working. William's office was at the end of the hall, and was pretty much a straight shot. However, it seemed that they wouldn't be getting there without any event. Grell once again was trying her best to sneak attack him from behind with a tackle hug. Spinning to catch her in one arm, he gave a rather impish grin and pressed his face close to her own. The teasing was harmless. It was simply done to make the rest of the wing uncomfortable. "Ah, my Red Lady of Death~ To what do I owe this visit?~" Letting her step back, he waited on what was sure to be an entertaining explanation.

"Do I ever need a reason to visit Mr. Death and Giggles~?" Black gloved hands brushed long crimson behind a black vested shoulder, her smirk screaming sexual innuendo and self-confidence. "I simply have come to ask~ Is my Hecate okay? You know word travels fast~" Glancing over the tips of her fingers as if she could examine her nails, the crimson reaper gave them both a sly look. "I hear the poor thing collapsed~ Now…what am I supposed to think?~" The end of her question was higher in pitch, and to Undertaker, obviously a tease.

However the shrillness of her voice seemed to summon one William T. Spears from his office, visage resting on an expression of slight irritation. "Grell…how many times must I implore you _not _to cause a racket. Unlike yourself, there are individuals that plan to get their work done." From the sound of it, this was at least the hundredth time this year. Rectangular frames landed on both Hecate and the Undertaker; the latter of whom was trying not to burst into shrill giggles. "Hehehe…William, leave the Red Lady be. I have come to give a report…a bit late, but you know how I work."

Grell at once attempted to latch herself to the stoic manager, but the effort was thwarted as his scythe was brought to his front to impede her progress. Adjusting his glasses, he gave Grell a passing look of exasperation before nodding to his Elder. "Of course…I hope the extra time has formulated actual details." A barely visible and scant lip quirk let the Undertaker know that his former student was actually teasing him. Grinning, he motioned for Hecate to follow into the office.

* * *

Hecate nodded, it was something she didn't divulge into often, but with his all too often question asked, she answered it the same way she told the council. There were parts her memory simply refused to show, and Hecate simply pushed it off as too horrendous, and left it alone. "As far as I can remember, he was working alongside of a demoness, and he died because of it." Her voice had suddenly lost its feeling, as if the subject had drained everything from her several times to many. Clearing her throat, she was glad for the shift in conversation; though gnawed at her cheek in embarrassment once more as he spoke of the Dark Ages, they were of course the more barbaric, which could also be told for her actions, but she did feel a bit more…special for being born in Demitru's favorite times.

"Three hundred?" A blink, who in the world could kill so many so f-…well her vampire idea wasn't too far off, was it? By his next sentence, she was stumbling over her words again, "I-ahn.." What could she say? Deciding on nothing, the reaper started walking a bit faster to hide her features from his vision. As they entered the Library, she took a glance around before nodding to the woman behind the counter. After they left, she had managed to keep her line of sight forward, slowly but surely calming herself even as people scurried away under Demitru's frown.

Then something happened that Hecate was _actually_ glad for, Grell had suddenly appeared, and despite the flirting going on that gave a strange twist to Hecate's guts; she was glad to see the red-head reaper. Well, glad until she said that the word of Hecate's collapse traveled back to her colleagues. A gloved hand smacked over her eyes as she groaned audibly, she'd never hear the end of it, especially from Grell. What was most sad, as even at this point, Hecate wasn't the bit upset over being called Grell's, which would normally annoy her. Miraculously, William appeared and Grell tried to attach herself to him. When that failed, Hecate walked over and grabbed Grell's hand, the poor shorter girl was trembling.

"I hadn't had the slightest clue he was Demitru, William never told me." The words were muttered, and by the look she sent to Grell, details would be given later; though no one else seemed to notice it, there was a bit of panic in her gaze, though if one were to look closely they would see a twinge of pain. Unable to let the woman's hand go, Hecate followed the two men into William's office, though she had threatened to kill the man only minutes earlier, she couldn't even look up off the floor. This would be the first report given to William by Demitru, not only was she nervous, but almost dying on the inside to wonder what he would say about her? Surely he wouldn't say anything about that kiss? It was a simple flirt, and no more rumors about her needed to be spread about… Another tremor passed through her, and she gently squeezed Grell's hand, as if begging for some sort of support.

* * *

Grell was just about to try again, as William usually relented eventually. However, the trembling grip of Hecate gave her pause, and she turned to look the elder woman full on in the face. Grinning slightly, as to not alert the surrounding shinigami to the possible drama, the Red Reaper nodded. "While it may not give too much comfort, you just landed in the wrong place, at the wrong time." Grell knew full well that William's arrangement with the Legend was to send entertainment. Frowning, she recalled how callous the Manager was when he told her. Something about getting her out of his hair. Tsking, Grell excitedly followed Hecate into the office. Of which she normally had Hell of a time getting into.

Said Manager made his way behind his desk, and sat; looking expectantly to his Mentor. "...I should inquire as to why this took several weeks...but to do so would cause me more headaches than what the answer would be worth, I'm sure." Glancing to Hecate, he frowned slightly. What he did not need, was a breakdown. "...Ms. Morte. Please, have a seat." Also, he may have felt just a tad bit guilty for sending her to face her idol, without so much as a warning. Adjusting his glasses, he hoped that the older woman kept Grell beside her. The gender confused man was truly a nuisance, yet because of their shared past, William couldn't outright shove him out. He was one of the only individuals that William was willing to allow close. Clearing his throat, he shifted his gaze to once again rest on Undertaker.

Who seemed to be digging around his robes for something specific. "Ah..." Pulling out the small urn of cookies, he handed it to Hecate, remembering that she enjoyed them quite well. "Where should I start?" And here, a noticeable change that sent a tremor of admiration and desire through Grell occurred. Like the removal of a mask. "Whether or not you are aware, Miss Hecate has another pair of spectacles, which are those she uses on the field." Removing his hat, he set it on the corner of the desk and sat down himself, not waiting for an offer. This irritated William visibly, but the Undertaker simply quirked a lip and continued.

"I see no problem with her performance, in fact I see something that isn't truly around anymore." Tilting his head to the woman that was being discussed, he took a moment before continuing. "...It is because of the technological advances, that humanity's instincts have dulled to near non-existence." Pressing the tips of his fingers together, he waited for William to raise a brow before finishing his point. "Magic, William. How many individuals besides myself and Lawrence that you know of, have this ability?" Shifting his gaze to Hecate herself beneath his fringe, he elaborated. "Miss Hecate has the ability to procure barriers, and spiritual strings. And had I not listened, my hand would have a quaint little hole~" Seeing his student narrow his eyes, he held up his hand for silence. "...I threw a surgical blade into a mouse. She simply decided to give it back." And that was where he would pause, for the boy to digest, and possibly ask more questions. Or perhaps for Hecate to add in.

* * *

Anxiety and panic ran through her veins as she sat down, unable to let go of the red reapers hand in fear of having an attack, be that in luck of William or not was unknown to even the elder woman. She forced her trembling to stop under the gaze of both men, trying not to appear weaker than what she really was; but of course it was understandable to look like she was about to have a heart attack, the man who she idolized higher than anyone in the world was giving a report about her, to her superior officer. As if he knew she was thinking about him, he offered the urn filled with the cookies she found delicious back at his home...or what she assumed was his home. Blood once again found their way to her features, giving her porcelain skin a rather delicate dusting of pink, her free hand reaching out to take the urn with care, she certainly didn't want to end up breaking the urn or doing anything to upset the man that was more than likely giving her an oppurtunity to go back out to the feild. God only knew how she lasted this long, being cooped up as if she were a caged animal.

Looking between the two boys as the conversation went on, she noted how everyone continued to glance at her every now and again, so opted to look up to Grell to catch her reactions; Hecate only used magic out on the feild, if not to protect fellow shinigami than to protect the public. So naturally Grell had no idea about her extra abilities, and as they were indeed extremely rare in their race it wouldn't come to surprising if Grell threw a temper tantrum; for Hecate deemed it unimportant to let her newest friend in on that little detail of her life. Though thinking on it now, Hecate realized that she didn't deem it as such, but for the simple fact of how it got her treated back in Italy. The first time Hecate and her superior found out about her magic, kids immediately swarmed for their chance to look at the "Freak"; since this upsetted her so much, her teacher pulled her to the side and told her something that seemed to stick and pull her through school. 'Those who see something different, are simply scared of what is in front of their eyes.'

Since then, she put back the fact that she was magical to keep people from being afraid of her, but ended up making a new name for herself; 'The Widow' was common after her fiance's death, she was even called a killer for a rumor running around that -she- had done it. That of course never made the file, seeing as they were unable to prove it. Looking forward when Demitru finished with his report, she decided to add in a few more abilities within her ability. "I'm also able to use those same abilities within my scythe, the wrappings on it are not just for decoration, but are able to hold the cinematic record in place as Mr. Hoartiu has previously seen." She glanced to Demitru, picking another cookie from the urn before handing it back to him; she hadn't realized it until now but half the urn was gone from her stress eating. Releasing Grell's hand now that she was more relaxed, or possibly in hopes that Grell would tackle the stone face man in retaliation for her embarrassment; she placed both hands in her lap and closed her eyes in thought. "Though I have no idea why my previous officers did not place that in my file...unless you already know, Mr. Spears?" Removing the glasses from her face, she set them in her lap and produced the second pair from within her jacket.

Just as before, her true spectacles were much more feminine than her dead fiance's, the silver skull hanging from its' single wire as it swung back and forth before twisting in a circle. She lifted the extra pair for William and Grell to inspect more closely if they desired, "These are my fiance's, he is currently deceased; and this is the only thing left I have of him. If it is a problem that I wear them during paper work, please let me know, but I refuse to get rid of them." There was a finality in her voice, as if someone were going to challenge her otherwise, though it was highly unlikely. She doubted anyone would care anyways.

* * *

Grell looked pityingly down at Hecate. Running crimson painted nails through the very ends of the older woman's hair, she almost glared at William. So he knew that Hecate idolized Undertaker, and sent her to directly confront the man!? "Tch..." Not even bothering to ask if it was okay, the red-head reached over the sable-topped woman's shoulder, plucking a cookie from the urn before it got too empty. The mortician certainly knew how to bake, and Grell was curious as to where he learned.

Listening to the Legend give a report was oddly...inspiring, and she couldn't help but keep her eyes glued to his frame. Magic? Wait, what?! A small noise of indignity left her throat, and she tried to glare daggers at the side of Hecate's cranium. Though the larger frames caught her attention. "Eh? They're so bulkydarling, I always wondered why you bothered to wear something so..." Waving a hand, it seemed Grell couldn't find the right word. Either that, or said word she was thinking wasn't particularly polite.

William had a few choice words to speak, but he was silenced by his mentor's hand. Despite the Elder's explanation, the stiff-spined manager wouldn't budge. "...While magic wasn't at all mentioned in the report, I can't say that I am surprised." The date of her reported creation and registry was in the Dark Ages. Along with her given name, it went to say that it was...expected. "Also...to say that you had to listen to prevent injury tells me she 'returned' the blade with such speed and/or force to guarantee a human severe injury." It was clear that the entertainment sent was successful, as the old man was defending her. "This bothers me, as I had not informed her of your race. Specifically for this test and purpose." Looking to Hecate herself, he folded his hands in front of his face. "Also was there a purpose of my not enlightening you to who he was. Most likely, you would have not gone."

Sitting back in his chair, William once again addressed the Undertaker. "Also, while you have enlightened me to several points, I still have yet to hear detail...and while I'm sure you enjoy holding things in front of my nose, we aren't in class anymore, Sir."

The quip made the Undertaker grin wider, and after nodding and taking the urn; now nearly half-empty, he set it too upon the younger reaper's desk. "So my young William has some sort of humour after all? Of course it would be at another's expense...you seem to enjoy abusing the Red Lady." The first time he addressed Grell since they entered the office. His tone was disapproving, yet still it held a mirthful ring.

After a few moments, his mirth seemed to vanish, and his lips pulled into an expression of thoughtfulness. "You expect a step by step walkthrough of what transpired? Hm." Grell certainly was interested, as she was now standing between himself and Hecate. Chuckling lowly, he nodded. He would explain, if only for the Red One. "She is, as I'm sure you've found out, punctual. Early morning if I'm not mistaken. Like most reapers, she had her Death Scythe beside her...or over her shoulder, I should say." A more light-hearted cackle, and he poked at William.

"I nearly had the thought that Lawrence had somehow turned you into a female, and you came asking for help!" The thought obviously still held a large amount of humour, as he couldn't stop laughing for a handful of moments. Grell nearly had a conniption, and almost darted out of the room to find Father when it occurred to her that Undertaker said 'somehow'. Upon finally regaining his more serious nature, he waved towards the currently calmer Hecate. "As this thought caused me a large amount of humour, I couldn't sneak upon her as is my custom." He truly sounded disappointed by this fact, yet he continued. "Like you, she prefers to work first, and rest later. I had offered my standard of tea and biscuits. She accepted, yet indicated she was to finish her work first. Now..."

Here, he distinctly turned his head so he was obviously looking at Hecate. "...not even many reapers would walk into a body freezer of their own volition. Even William has trouble." At this the Manager grumbled and glared lightly. "So it goes to say that you have coloured me impressed, Miss. It is unsurprising that she was unable to sense myself approach, as she had already erected a barrier in what I assume expectation of what came next." Explaining the Cinematic attack, the Undertaker watched William for any signs of past trauma. Seeing only a twitch of the brow, he smiled. "She had lost her ribbon...which until this afternoon, I held in my possession. Afterwards, we had a light discussion over tea, and she left. Not much to it, William." No. No, he did not intend to reveal the kiss that took him off guard. The poor girl was traumatized enough.

* * *

She had figured that Grell would be a bit upset over the whole matter with her not telling about the magic, but it was kind of amusing to see that look of annoyance on her features. Then the attention turned immediately to her glasses, to which Hecate almost grinned, finishing the woman's sentence in a kinder way. "Ghastly?" The frames were then tucked into her jacket, to be forgotten for now. As William address his dislike for how she returned the blade, her gaze snapped back, defiant and quite pissed despite the nerves showing in her body language. A jaw twitched as he mentioned his reasoning for not revealing who Demitru was, to which a low and angry noise whispered past her lips. "Of course I wouldn't have gone.." Her cheeks tinted pink, a mumble barely audible slipped past.

"I'd at least look a bit prettier.." As for Demitru's comment on how she walked into the body freezer with no troubles, she was confused on what he meant until it suddenly occured to her. "Well..I'm not one for clausterphobia." If she was, it would make the job all the more difficult. Hitomi did enjoy her job, the feild is where she belonged, and there would be nothing to keep her from that job. Though one thing was for sure, she was immensely relieved that Demitru didn't reveal what happened before she left, that surely would've made her bash her own head in. Shifting her gaze back to William, she awaited the verdict, so to speak, on if she could actually go out into the feild again. She could've done so much worse during that trial, the scapel was something minor compared to what was recorded in her profile..and what wasn't. The nerves settled in once more, this time a bit higher than previous.


	3. Thorns of Death

What was it about this case that just seemed off? Well, other than the preppy little red head next to her, Hecate couldn't place it, and simply brushed it off as just a bad feeling. Looking down to her file, she glanced to Grell and lofted a brow curiously. What in the world was William thinking? He had a hard enough time trusting her, maybe he thought she'd keep Grell in line, or vice versa? Maybe it was an experiment. Well, it hardly mattered. Grell was set to the task of reaping a husband, while Hecate was given the wife; and at this point names hardly mattered to her. Nodding for Grell to continue her rant that Hecate was hardly paying mind too, she was given her scythe and Grell her...chainsaw; and they were off to the human realm. Hecate had chosen to pick up her old cloak, which ended just at her ribcage in the front, flaring down to her ass in the back. She let the scythe lean on her shoulder before tuning into Grell's ranting, might as well pay /some/ amount of attention to the red drama queen.

"Ohn! I remember the first time Will and I reaped, it was simply /magical/~" A brow lofted, luckily seen because Hecate had decided to leave the hood down, and she tuned Grell back out again, at least until the series of words 'Lost glasses, nearly got killed, saved him' left that shinigami's lips. A chuckle escaped, "You're not making me feel good about reaping with you, Grell." A pout was given, "That was /years/ ago darling! I'm much more stylish and stronger than I use to be!" Hecate simply shook her head with a tiny grin, Grell wasn't yet use to Hecate's brash humor.

They had finally made it to the corner where this supposed crash would happen, Hecate leaned against the pole that held the street names while Grell continued to make exaggerated movements and talk quite loudly, for once Hecate was actually glad that they could be chosen to be seen by humans. Thats when a carriage tore the corner, causing Grell to quieten as it went out of control and smashed against the ground with a thunderous smash; screams tore through the street as it skidded to a stop, right in front of Hecate. She watched as after a few tense seconds, men got on top of the carriage and ripped open the door, pulling out the two extremely damaged bodies. She watched as Grell made her way over to the man, so she made her way to the wife. The scythe pierced the skin, extracting the cinematic records with ease; though with the grunt that came from Grell, she got temporarily distracted and looked over to the red head. "Y'alright?" It was spoken with a lazed tone, as if she half expected Grell to mess up at any point, only making the red head more determined. "Fine." A shrug, and Hecate went back to her own soul, the struggle behind her going unseen until Grell finally shouted out. "HECATE! WATCH OUT!" She was just beginning to write that this woman would die, when she turned around to be smacked in the chest with what felt like a ten ton weight. It lifted her up, and it wasn't long before she realized what exactly had hit her, the cinematic record was beginning to play in her head; and it was going by so fast that she barely had time to even scream in agony. Pain registered in each nerve of her body, blood leaked out of her mouth, and then it all went..black.

Never a good idea to ignore a bad feeling.

She awoke to what felt like several minutes later, a dull ache consumed her body as she groaned in pain; causing something to move beside her, to which she opened her eyes to realize her glasses were gone. But she was laying on a bed, it felt soft..how did she get here? Brows furring, she closed her eyes in pain, feeling a pair of glasses being placed on her face. Opening them once more, she saw a very worried Grell staring back at her, causing only more confusion. "I'm not dead yet, so stop looking so down." Her voice sounded like a frogs, Grell was oddly silent, only grabbing a cup and helping Hecate sit up; she did her best to put on a straight face through the pain, swallowing the water greedily. After a clearing of her throat, she spoke up again, this time more clearly. "How long have I been asleep?" Grell simply shook her head, "Three days." It didn't register for a moment, but the shock eventually settled in. "...Grell, what's wrong with me?" Was she about to cry? Hecate narrowed her eyes, "Grell, tell me." Maybe not, she thought there were tears in the red heads' eyes. "I'm sorry." That caused Hecate to throw the covers off of her, and stop dead. There was what looked like a sewn line wrapped around her left and right leg, they looked like...Demitru's scars actually. "...What's this?" Looking over, she noted that Grell had left, and in her place stood a doctor, or who she assumed was a doctor. Was she losing track of time? "That, is called the Thorns of Death."

It was like a cruel slap to the face, Hecate simply stared at the doctor left, tears finally slipping past her eyes as a smile formed on her face. "...So..I'm finally going to die?" It seemed fitting, death slow and painful for someone like her..yeah, fitting. But how should she tell her Mother and Father? Her friends? ...No, she'd just tell Grell to be quiet, and die painfully, alone, and slowly. That's what she deserved.


	4. My Savior

It was probably the most painful existance she had ever came to live, though it seemed over the past few weeks, it hadn't spread that far. For that she was grateful, but it left the Doctors in wonder, how could she hold it off so well? Well, Hecate was trying to prolounge her own suffering, memories of that man kept appearing and forcing her to remember the more painful memories of her own existance. She was doing her best to keep others unaware of the pain she was pushing onto herself, Grell had done her damnest to make Hecate comfortable, trying to find a way to get a cure. Hecate had stopped her short though, demanding that she'd be treated as if this never happened. After a few attempts, Grell gave up and just gave the woman glances of sorrow, which Hecate pointedly ignored.

That is until one raining day, the pain was particularly bad today, her legs felt as if someone was ripping off the flesh from bone, in truth. With no where else to turn, she had called in sick, thrown on her old dress and cloak, and headed to Undertakers. That had been the most painful, because she had to split the realms apart by hand, it made concentrating hard and the pain a bit worse. Stumbling into the other realm, Hecate threw her hood up and used the walls as a crutch, rain splattering her clothes and skin, soaking her to the bone. It felt amazing on her legs, until the rain dropped her tempeture to it's level. Looking up to the sign that hung over his shop, shinigami green eyes had begun to fill with tears. She couldn't keep it a secret for very long, one other person had to know..someone who lived longer than William and Grell, who could actually help; did she want to be saved so badly? A sick churning turned her stomach over, no, she was just to selfish to die alone.

The door was pushed open, a jingle over her head was the only thing heard before the pain became to unbearable and she fell face first into the floor. Panting heavily, tears mixed with the rain water, her legs had given out. Snarling heavily, she pushed herself back to her hands and knees, glasses falling to the floor as she temporarily became blinded. It was Damien's glasses she wore, grey nails dug into the floor as she bit back the pain of not only her legs, but her mind trying to bring back another memory. "D-...Demitru.." It was a hoarse and pitiful call for help, just as she felt right now. Pitiful. 

* * *

The bell was what first caught his attention. The Silver Reaper sat in his back study, all bodies prepared and placed to wait for their final day. Raising a brow in slight contemplation of who would visit in such weather, and at such a time; the Undertaker blinked at the thud. Once again this is one example of the Legend being perhaps...a bit too relaxed in his home. He didn't reach out his senses in order to identify the specie.

Though in his mind, he was /far/ too old to be worrying about the creatures that couldn't /ooze/ their aura. So he was completely taken off-guard when the prone form of Hecate met his vision. This surprise caused an instinctual snap back to the mentality of a General. "Hecate...! What has happened?" Gone was the tittering tone of mirth, replaced by one of concern and terse authority.

Scanning over her frame with an aura that she would be able to feel, he stopped once he encountered her legs. "..." The stress leeched from his frame, and his hidden gaze softened. "Ipsa mors perveniret ad asserendum quod iuste possidet..." Narrowing his eyes, he shifted the force in which he scanned, and attempted to do as he did for Alan Humphries, the young man that still walked, after several years with this condition.

To bind the Thorns. "Sed neque mors vitam, ita augeri potest capere capiat. Sit teneantur, usque dum fit remotio..." It wasn't a hundred percent guarantee to work...yet the Silver Mortician had done it plenty of times before...

* * *

All too soon, he was by her side, but the pain was simply to much for her to continue talking through. It was spreading up her front, trying so desperately to reach her heart and kill her right then and there. Aura shifting from one of pain to panic, she felt her magic shift to protect her body when another form of magic pressed along her legs, controlling the Thorns as a deep voice vibrated her ear drums. It was Demitru, speaking in Latin that she knew all to well. Tears formed in her eyes once more, how could she tell him to stop and just let her die? It would be to hard to explain, the memories that had been blocked from before had come up once again, the blood shed and the screams of agony; then it all faded away as if a bad dream.

Falling to the side he was at, Hecate twitched, attempting not to sob. She reached out for the glasses that had fallen, and instead of putting them on, simply clutched them to her chest. Her green-yellow eyes gave a glow, an obvious trait when she was performing her own set of magic, the frames had cracked at the fall until her hand clutched them; a veil of grey surrounding the glass and repairing the damage that had been done. It was a simply trick of magic, one she had re-learned quickly. Breathing coming in more steady now, she looked up to Demitru with the eyes that had been hidden behind a shield of stone.

A broken smile lifted her lips up slightly as she felt a pitiful giggle escape her lips, is this what cracked Demitru? No, he wasn't cracked, she was; a cracked and broken doll. Another giggle passed, "Thorns..of Death.." Another giggle, and she felt a laugh bubble in her chest, what was so funny was the simply fact that she had given in just before her ultimiate death; prolounged her own suffering by coming to a man who she idolized. How hilariously sad could it possibly get?

* * *

Reaching forward with an amazingly sad smile for the normally giddy visage; Demitru wiped away the tears that streamed down her face with the side of his index finger. His own dual-toned hues remained on the glow whilst she completed her magic. "...Where?" It was an almost stupidly short and vague question, but he was sure she would catch that he asked where she got the Thorns.

The broken smile caused his heart to break.

No...none could follow the path he had taken. To balance between sanity and it's opposite. A task that Death had been more than happy to give him. So that the Silver Reaper would know sympathy.

Her laughter held no mirth. To him, the notes resounded with utter agony, and it took only several minutes before he could no longer listen. Standing, he scooped her close to his chest, and pressed his lips to her forehead. Not only was this an action to gauge if she had a fever, but...something that he previously thought impossible.

He truly worried, and cared. He genuinely wished to comfort.

* * *

Why did it hurt so much? The pain in her legs was almost gone, she just felt the unbearable guilt and agony rest on her shattered heart. As he asked where, she found it almost stupid to even ask, though she obeyed in showing him where exactly it was. Lifting the dress she wore, the iconic scars wrapped around her legs in a vine line manner, trailing up to her stomach. Though she did not show him that much, only up to her thighs before she released the fabric between her fingers. The smile remained, though the laughter was silenced by him bringing her into a hug. She was surprised to find his lips pressing against her forehead in comfort, though that was the final straw to break her.

She began crying, clutching to his front and curling into him as if he were her own pillar. Her soak frame shook with each uncontrollable sob, and it seemed that Hecate had lost herself in the emotions she tried so hard to hold back, the anger shown through her clutching to him, the sorrow in her tears, the guilt in her own pain, and the agony through her weak and bubbled gasps for breath. There was one thought that kept repeating, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hold it back from passing between her lips. "I don't want to die." She deserved something far worse than death in her eyes, and that was to live in suffering until she saw that she had been redeemed from her own sins.

"I don't want to die."

* * *

Gazing to the scars that looked so much like his own, his frown couldn't be restrained. It didn't take a genius to figure that the thorns now wrapped around to her abdomen. The next question he had, he couldn't ask. For before he could walk down the hall to a less...public area, she clutched to him tightly enough that he could feel his shoulder seams dig in.

Sliding down the wall that separated the coffin room from the hallway, he re-adjusted so she lay half in his lap, and half upon his chest. Lithe fingers combed gently through raven locks. Until she spoke, he would simply give silence. This was no time for jokes, and even if it was; his brain was locked into the 'Serious Setting'.

And then, he desperate statement. "...as long as I can help, you will not be killed by this...curse." That is what it truly was. A curse Death gave to the reapers in a time when the Earth was infantile. The first test subject of this torturous disease? Demitru himself. He wasn't cured...that much was obvious. He had simply endured it in it's entirety.

"It's going to be alright..." Another kiss to her forehead. This one, of pure intention to comfort.

* * *

The words that came forth from his lips sounded desperate, causing her sorrow to lessen as confusion settled in. How could he help her from something this serious? This was the end for most, if not all reapers; well, except the man clutching her currently. He somehow lived with it, the scars on her body she recognized from the one on his pinkie finger from their first meeting. Oh how long ago that felt compared to now, if she weren't infected, surely this feeling of having a man hold her would cause a deep crimson blush to rise to her cheeks and cause a stutter. Instead, her face flushed with the blood rushing to her features from her crying so hard; which had quietened to sniffles and choked whimpers. Keeping her forehead to his chest, she allowed the feeling of fingers running through her hair to relax her frame, the dress riding up once more to reveal the scars. There was one thing to be taken care of though, she couldn't let the others know of this disease.

Looking up to him, she looked pitifully beautiful, her cheeks flushed with life as hair stuck to the sides of her face; her lips, once blue from the cold, finally turning a flush pink had been pulled into a tiny smile of apology, though it wouldn't be known as to why until the words fell from her lips. "Please..." Eyes framing the rampent emotions, sorrow, guilt, admiration and the fading love of a dying girl; "Please don't tell anyone, please keep this a secret." Relaxing an iron grip from his front, she lifted her torso slightly to look him straight in the face. "Promise me you'll keep it a secret, Demitru." He wanted to be treated as an equal, she'd treat him as such. Her drying frame still had the dress clinging to her, water dripping off the ends of her hair and face. Mayhaps this is why Hecate knew she looked nothing like William, nor acted like him, she knew of the emotions lying just beneath the skin of her subconscious; and knew just how beautiful she truly was.

* * *

The middle right talon that tipped his finger gently brushed away a stray hair that fell in her face. "...The Council knows not why I am the way I am...if you wish it kept secret, it will be so." He was referring to his scars. Not a soul alive in the Dispatch knew where they came from. Most speculated a daemonic attack.

Smiling once more, his hidden hues glittered in sympathy, and a desire to help rid her of her pain. "...Pardon my blunt and probably repetative observation...but you, my dear, are beautiful..." T'would be a shame if she were lost. Yet that never left his lips. He would be content with her in his lap, and most likely, the shoppe would open late the next day.


End file.
